Social Insecurity

I’m pretty sure what happened was that I threw my social security card away by accident when I replaced my old wallet. The card, which you’re not supposed to laminate even though it is flimsy and just asking to disintegrate, was pretty beaten up around the edges and smaller than then other cards in my wallet. I think when I was cleaning out the old wallet, the card was just smashed down too far in one of the card slots and I didn’t see it, so it got thrown away.

It took a few months to realize the card was gone, and then another few months before I worked up the courage to see what kind of obstacle course I would need to run through to get a replacement card. Sure that it would be a difficult process, I was pleasantly surprised to find that all I had to do was fill out an application online and then go to my local social security office to show them my driver’s license, proving that I am, in fact, me.

I went to the office on a Friday morning hoping that there wouldn’t be a large crowd, and there wasn’t. Using the little robot kiosk I got my ticket number and then sat down to wait for my number to be called. There were maybe 15 or 20 other people in the waiting area, but the numbers were called regularly and people were moving through quite quickly. I would see someone go back to the desks and within a few minutes they’d reappear and leave the office, their business completed.

After waiting for about 25 minutes, my number was called and I was directed to window number 6. As I stood up to go back to the desk, two women were leaving the office together. One of them pointed out of the glass doors and said, “oh, there is the bathroom.” They walked in that direction. I was likewise in need of the restroom, so I was glad to know where it was and planned to stop there right after finishing up at window number 6.

Given how complicated it is to prove who you are at the DMV or when applying for a passport, I was expecting more hoops to jump through at social security. But no, it was very simple. The man at the desk asked to see my driver’s license, confirmed my home address, and then sent me on my way. He didn’t even want to see my birth certificate, which made me a little sad because I brought it special just for the occasion. He just handed me a letter which stated that I would receive my replacement card in two weeks and that I should keep it in a safe place (i.e. not my wallet). Within three minutes I was free to leave window number 6. I thanked the man who helped me and walked out of the office.

The bathrooms were just outside of the glass doors to the office on the left. There were signs on the doors which said “Knock Before Entering”. Rule follower that I am, that’s what I did. I gave a quick knock on the ladies room door and then tried the doorknob. I realized that the door was locked just as I heard someone from inside say, “just a minute!”

While it is perfectly normal to knock on a bathroom door and hear such a reply, I was nonetheless mortified. I don’t know why, but I always feel so embarrassed to be the eager knocker who needs to use the bathroom. I hate disturbing people when they’re on the john, that’s part of it for sure. But I also always feel this shower of shame, knowing that when they are done and walk out of the bathroom, they are going to know it was me who knocked and tried to walk in on their private business. I always feel ashamed of myself and insecure in those moments; probably something to talk to my therapist about.

Despite my embarrassment, my bladder was full enough that I decided to wait. Thankfully the hallway was wide enough that I could take several steps away from the door, yet still clearly be in line for the bathroom. I walked away a little distance so that I wouldn’t be in this woman’s face when she walked out of the bathroom. As I casually stepped down the hallway a few paces, I noticed another woman waiting in the lobby area by the elevators. She was one of the pair of women I saw leaving the office when I was called back, the one who had pointed out the bathroom to her companion. Brilliant as I am, I concluded that this woman was waiting for the other woman who was clearly the one in the bathroom.

At this point it had been maybe four minutes since we had crossed paths in the social security office, so I figured this woman had been in the bathroom for about that long. Four minutes isn’t a terribly long time, plus she was an older lady so maybe she was just moving a little slower. I continued to wait, still anticipating my own embarrassment when she exited the bathroom to find me, the eager knocker with the full bladder.

Another minute passed.

And then another.

After three minutes of waiting, the forces of embarrassment in my brain began to shift. Instead of being embarrassed at myself for what I viewed as a knocking faux pas, I began to feel sorry for this lady who, after at least seven minutes in the bathroom, was most likely experiencing some kind of gastrointestinal revolution. Now I wasn’t so much worried about her judging me, but I was certain she’d walk out and be embarrassed that I was going to walk into the odorous remnants of whatever it was she had done in there.

I waited one more minute before deciding that I really didn’t want to go in there anymore, bladder be damned. I decided to hold it and made a quick exit down the stairs and out of the building. I drove home where I enjoyed the privacy of my own bathroom, with only my cat butting in as he likes to do.

Upon reflection, I realize now that I could have just used the men’s room which was right next door. They were clearly one-holer bathrooms, it’s not like I would have been disturbing someone at the urinals. But somehow being seen walking out of the men’s room would also have made me feel insecure. What would people think? “Wow, she really had to go!” “Look at her thinking she can just pee anywhere she wants to, ignoring the clearly posted signs, she’s so entitled.” “So impatient, she couldn’t just wait her turn.”

How is it that someone as simple as relieving one’s bladder can be such a minefield of social niceties, assumptions, and expectations. I just had to pee, for crying out loud!

I really do need to talk to my therapist about this one.